Okay, I know this is a book blog, and I know I haven’t posted anything book-related in actual months. But the bigger part of the story is that this blog was supposed to get me to write, and it has only somewhat succeeded in that goal. I have been mad at myself for not writing, so I wrote this little mini-essay, and I feel I should share it here. Thanks 🙂
Most days, I feel caught in between having everything to say and nothing to say at all. Sometimes, my brain feels so full I can’t help but vomit it out to the nearest victim. Most of it is nonsense – most of it doesn’t even begin to cover whatever is pent up in there. This is the very reason I typically choose to share none of it at all. What’s stuck in there feels profound, real, meaningful. When it comes out, it loses its value. You’d think after 27 years, I would know how to filter out and dilute the important things. Somehow, I don’t.
I used to laugh at how people said, “You think you know everything in your 20’s.” I laughed because I really did think I knew everything. At 20, I really didn’t know anything. At 21, I moved out and figured things out: I worked full-time, went to college online, kept my home meticulously clean, went to the gym, I was good. At 23, I moved across the country with the love of my life. At 24, I was a runner, I started my Masters, I traveled internationally. At 25, I decided alcohol was bad. At 26, I had no friends. I finished my Masters. I stopped running. I realized I didn’t know anything.
Today, at 27, I still know nothing. Now I have friends. I have a dog. I have no aspirations. I realized I want to be a writer, I like food, alcohol, I like having fun. It almost feels like I’m regressing, but I haven’t quite figured out if that’s a good or a bad thing. I have big feelings. I like to read. The passage of time scares me more than it used to. I wrote down goals for 2026 and didn’t meet any of them. A year ago, that would have been enough to make me want to end it all. Today, I almost feel proud of it.
Lila Anole
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